


Ras Alhague (Alpha Ophiuchi)

by sentenza



Category: Gomorra - La Serie | Gomorrah (TV) - Fandom
Genre: 'cause Genny his holding him at gun point, Camorra, Face-Fucking, Genny's wild and dirty imagination, I'll let you decide, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Italian Mafia, Italian to English, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Rough Oral Sex, Translated by the original author, Translation, Trieste, but the answer is yes, every discrepancy is wanted, is Ciro a snake?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-07-04 16:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15844839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentenza/pseuds/sentenza
Summary: Fifth episode of the second season. Don Pietro orders his son Gennaro to reach the city of Trieste to negotiate with Ciro and the Alliance. It's a trap to avenge the death of Donna Imma. The young Savastano lays an ambush at his rival in his hotel suite, putting him between a rock and a hard place.





	Ras Alhague (Alpha Ophiuchi)

“ _On your knees!_

_I like seeing you like this...”_

 

-Gennaro Savastano to Ciro Di Marzio, s02e05.

 

 

**Ras Alhague (Alpha Ophiuchi)**

 

 

 

His breath, humid and hot, is caressing my hand. All these gold rings must hurt real bad, sinking into his flesh and grinding against the bones of his face like this. He always had such beautiful cheekbones. I have touched his face so many times, before, but never this way. I never held it tight, still and fixed, looking up at me. His eyes are wet, almost spilling over with tears and he looks desperate, heartbroken, but I can't trust this pain he is showing me, not after the dirty traitor he has proven himself to be.

Still...

My hand gets gentler and my grip looser, making my thumb slide left, toward his mouth. He has a woman's mouth, soft and dark and always pouting. I've been cold as fucking ice since I came in, I didn't loose it neither when he came up with all that bullshit about Deborah, because it's all BS.

Sure as fuck, it is.

I would bet all of Secondigliano on that.

It was just for a sec, right at the end, when he screamed at me to kill him, that I let him see my weakness and already he his preparing to sink his teeth in it, this fucking snake. I feel like the idiot everyone always told me I am, because I see the shift in his eyes, like the safety of a gun being taken off, but I do nothing. I don't pull my hand away, I don't start slapping his face, I don't smash his ribs with my foot, I stay still like some retarded beast fallen into a trap.

In the beginning I'm not a hundred percent sure I really felt it, the kiss he leaves at the base of my thumb. It' light, almost accidental, like the blade hidden in his languid eyes and sorrowful brow. A freaking symphony of warning bells goes off in my head, because this bastard has always known how to play me like a violin. He must know that I've wanted him for ages and now, backed into a corner, he is ready to play even this card, I realize feeling my face burn with rage and shame, but his mouth opens and then closes on my finger and my brain flatlines just like that.

His eyes close too and a clear drop escapes from the trap of his dark lashes, running down down toward his pulsing throat... Do I want to believe it? To believe _him_?

This might be my one and only chance to have him, even if just for one night, so far from home that it will become almost dreamlike in my head, by the time I'll be back in Rome, to Azzurra.

Is it worth it?

His tongue works slow and thorough, like the treacherous promise of a lover, and I start breathing faster just like my thumb does, moving in and out, overcoming the barrier of his teeth to press on his tongue and caressing the edge of his lower incisors on its way out.

His mouth looks like it was _made_ to suck cocks.

The wildest rumors had gone around about what my father had him do, more than a year ago in that club, but all of them agreed upon seeing the old man unzip his pants and Ciro throwing up later in the toilets. How many nights had I spent awake, in my bed, just thinking what _I_ could have commanded him to do once succeeded to that piece of shit of my father! In all of my fantasies, though, he does not run to throw up afterward, he stays with me swearing his eternal loyalty and I cover him with kisses and tell him how beautiful he is and how we complete each other and... And I was such a stupid kid, back then.

Sure, I still desire him, but now, after everything that has happened I no longer wish for a joining, what I really want is ownership, possession, mastery. I want to slither inside him and never leave, fill every pore and crevasse like poison, control is every movement and word.

Something that sounds like gagging and a muffled protests drags me out of my funk. I must have pushed too deeply.

His hand grabs my jeans and his eyes open, sweet and treacherous, to look at me from behind the black fan of his lashes. The wind that rattles and shakes the windows seems to calm for a second, just enough to hear the wet sound of my thumb slipping out of his mouth, leaving behind a slick trail shining on his chin. I use my right hand to jerk his face against my crotch and my eyes shoot upward. A groan bursts out of my chest but I can't keep him out of my sight for long, especially now, when he is murmuring my name, warm and humid, against the fly of my pants while I grind my raging boner all over him.

He is fast to find the shape of my cock squeezed tightly in my jeans and starting to rub against it like a cat in heat, cheekbones first, then his nose and tongue, he kisses and licks it like he is gagging for it.

His hand skates up my leg until his thumb pushes against my inner thigh, and higher still, up to my zipper, pulling it down slowly, making me feel each metal teeth getting loose. He nears his face to the open V at the apex of my thighs and I press his scorching mouth against my dark boxer and what's inside them. I have barely seconds to lament the absence of his hair and a better grip in my head, almost making myself laugh out loud, but when he lowers jeans and underwear in one move and starts licking the base of my dick, every rational thought I have splatters against the inside of my skull.

He sucks and licks like a professional.

He tells me I'm hung and I tell him that I know.

The tip of his tongue follows the path of the swollen vein that runs from bottom to top and then slithers under the foreskin at the crown. A choked out swear clogs my throat and his eyes are back in my face, sly and arrogant, even Azzurra has never showed me this little trick before.

I always suspected he already had some experiences with men and now, with his nose sinking in my pubic hair, I'm sure of that. After all, an orphan with no family or anyone to take care of him, ended up in the “system” even before his voice broke... Who knows what the fuck he had to do to have a full belly each day, to earn the trust of the current piece of shit at the top of the food chain.

The image that just popped in my head, of him, still just a kid, kneeling in some dirty alley giving 10 euros Bjs should fill me with disgust, but it just makes me more and more mad.

In every way.

My father, some disgusting perverted fuck picked up at the train station... All of them had to do nothing more than ask, when I had to threaten him with a fucking gun in a hotel suite at the other end of Italy!

He is back lingering at the tip when I decide to grab his head with both of my hands and just ram my cock down his throat without mercy, making him choke the worst and loudest since we began.

That face you are making, Ciro, like you don't get it, like it's all my fault and I have no reason be angry, is useless. Is all of this just a punishment to you? Just a price to pay to save your own disgusting scaly skin? Well then, this is a price you will have to pay in full.

He tries to free himself but I have the higher ground, literally. I keep ignoring his nails scoring my thighs, his vocal cords trying to form my name and “stop” around my cock, until his uneasiness starts to morph into panic.

I really don't feel like getting my dick bitten or my balls punched tonight.

I let him go, just long enough to dislodge my erection from his tonsils before closing my hand around the back of his neck like a vice and using the other one to violently lift his chin. I want to enjoy his watering eyes as much as possible.

He is coughing and gagging, telling me I'm an animal. You are just putting up a front, I bet you had someone do far far worse to you for way less. But then, something in his face turns offended and bellicose, I guess I can try to rein myself in, just a little bit, to finally scratch this itch that has tormented me for years. The hands still holding onto his face become gentler, more like I'm just keeping him still and less like I'm trying to crush his skull like a ripe melon.

I can't keep my gaze from tracing the contours of his face, while I let him get his gasping breath under control, and end up hating myself just a little bit more when I find me slightly caressing his skin, reddened and slick with sweat and spit.

I love him.

After all of this I'm sure of that.

The temptation, to just lift him up and lay him down on the bed in the other room and make him scream down the ceiling with my name, or take him to the bathroom and have him ride my dick in the nice jacuzzi I saw while waiting for him, is almost too much.

But I won't. I just know that I would not be able to control myself and I'd end up giving him everything, my forgiveness, my heart, my blood.

Suddenly he wavers on his knees. I bet it's because they hurt like motherfuckers, but to my blood deprived brain it almost looks like he is backing up and I can't stand it, so I take a step forward and drag his entire body against mine.

It's not what I feel through the jeans fabric, but rather how he jerks and hisses at the sudden contact that lets me in on the little aching problem that's making his hips twitch against my shin. He likes it because he is a disgusting whore, the alternative, that he likes it because it's me, because he loves me, because he has always loved me, it's just something I can't stand to think about.

He is leaning completely on me, now, and his every touch sends a shock of adrenaline coursing through my veins, his damp cheek resting against my stomach, the hand he still has curled around the base of my cock or even just the other one, closed in a fist at the hem of my red t-shirt.

I don't need to tell him to keep going, because his lids shiver close for a second and then his lips are at my dick again, a feather-light caress that soon turns in to a tight scalding ring. I go at it slower, this time, still setting the pace but one he can actually follow, with some deeper stabs to enjoy a few more of his noises. I have half a mind to tell him to open his pants and jerk off, but I don't want him to stop touching me. He looks so sweet holding on so tightly to my cloths. That's why I tell him to hump my leg.

Like a dog.

It's true, I added that last part just because I'm still pissed off.

I bet he resents me for that last jab, but he does what I told him to do anyway.

God, I really wish I had something to lean on! Now that he is having some fun too, all his finesse and technique have ended up in the shitter, while his enthusiasm has doubled. I'd like to wait for him to cum before I shoot my load down his throat, but I don't think I can take this any longer when I feel the muscles in my abdomen contract and my back spasm in a bow, making me arch above his kneeling figure. I can manage just one, two, three more rigid thrusts before emptying my balls on his tongue.

He swallows every drop with a hum and cums too, still clinging to my leg.

My heart is beating so fast and my breath is so short that my hands go numb and I can't see anything for a couple of seconds. I get off of him, equally ready to collapse but now, without me holding him up, on all fours on the floor, and take two trembling steps back. The cold air of Trieste is like punch in the balls on the skin of my tights, wet with precum and drool. Something breaks with a resounding crack under the sole of my shoe making me loose my footing and my pulse skyrocket. A piece of black plastic, from that damn 3d-printed gun.

The lamp that was on the commode I just slammed against falls to the ground with a crash, leaving only the cold blue moon outside the open window to light the room. Suddenly, the horrible suspect that one of don Aniello's men might have heard us from the street, makes my hair stand on end. What a fucking idiot I am!

I'm trying to calm down, telling myself that the furious wind screaming and rattling the shutters must have covered our noises, but if that is not the case I don't have much time left to get the fuck out of dodge.

My hands are trembling bad when I try to tuck my still half-mast cock into my pants.

Now that I don't see just red anymore, I feel like a goddamn moron for having risked this much for _that_. He looks so calm, eyes closed, laying down on the dark wooden floor taking deep and slow breaths, the opposite of me, panicking and watching his every move from the corner of my eye. I almost can not believe it when he lazily starts searching his pockets and takes out fag and lighter.

I can still feel the wetness of his spit in my underwear but, suddenly, I feel like it has been him to have the upper hand this whole time.

I bet it's not just a feeling.

I keep stalling a handful of seconds more, I already fixed my clothes and should really scram now, but I'd like to leave him with something. Maybe something mean, to hurt him, for example that he is nothing but a whore. Or maybe something deep, to let him know that to me this wasn't just a blowjob, for example that I love him.

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth. Slow. Satisfied.

-I'll see you tomorrow, Genna'.-

I let the door slam close behind me, when I leave.

 

**End.**

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I translated it myself, which made the end result weird. To me, at least. All my previous works not in Italian were written directly in English, maybe that's why.  
> The two versions differ a bit, I feel the translated one flows less smoothly but is visually richer so... I don't know. Try both and let me know if you can!


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